Bloom
by DrMeh
Summary: He is as dark as the blackness she always craves after so much white: Shelke the Transparent, Nero the Sable, and everything in between.


**a/n**: A very long one-shot. I'm posting it in two chapters, so... twoshot. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Bloom

first garden (of faces)

_Vengeance is the darkest facet of love; sacrifice, the brightest._

-Merlin

* * *

Shelke Rui, when asked, claims that she does not remember her time in Deepground. "It's all a blur," she explains, sometimes to Vincent Valentine, sometimes to Nanaki, once to Tifa Lockhart, and refuses to say any more on the matter.

The truth is, as it usually is (she's beginning to learn), somewhat more complicated.

It _is _blurry, but in varying degrees.

She does not remember her first night in Deepground at all; not so much as a blur as an entire blank spot. It begins with Shalua tucking her in, kissing her hair with a whispered wish for sweet dreams, and exiting Shelke's room quietly, leaving the door slightly open to let light in, because nine year-old Shelke is a little(kindofveryverymuch) afraid of the dark.

It ends with an abrupt return to her senses, which tell her that she's strapped down to a metal table of some kind, wires wrapping around her tiny body, and strange people in white coats standing over her, murmuring long words she doesn't understand.

She thinks she may have screamed, but there's an awful pain in her head, her muscles are burning, her skin prickles as needles slide in and out, and she can't really hear anything so she can't be sure. This is where the first blur in her memory should begin, she would give _anything_ for it to blur, but Shelke is nine years old and confused and thinks this is all a dream, so she remembers it all whether she wants to or not. She remembers the pain, the terror; she remembers sobbing until she can't breathe and the people in whitewhite coats shove a hard tube down her throat that keeps her painfully alive; she remembers white-hot pain melting into the white of the walls, the lights, and the sickly gleam from the Researchers' lab coats.

She remembers a tall, dark-suited man staring at her, unnervingly expressionless, as he tells her, "Do not resist."

Three simple words that make no sense, because it's all just a dream, it _has_ to be, and Shalua always says to pinch herself if she's in a nightmare and wants to get out. If the pinch doesn't hurt, it's a dream, Shelke, and if you pinch yourself enough, you'll wake up and I'll be _right_ there, with as many hugs as there were pinches.

Shelke is in a nightmare and she wantsneeds to get out, so she tries to pinch herself, but no matter how much she strains, her body won't move. She tries to gasp, but the tube doesn't let her, and the sensation of her body breathing against her will makes her dizzy and scared.

Shalua never said what to do if you can't pinch yourself.

The first blur is when the torture finally ends and the wires withdraw, letting Shelke fall endlessly into a place deep inside her mind. She is dimly aware of movement, the cold sharpness of metal on her skin removed to allow contact with a rough cloth, and the sensation of intense darkness pressing down upon her closed eyelids.

Little Shelke is really quite afraid of the dark, but she's absolutely terrified of the brightbrightwhite-ness from before, so she welcomes it and falls asleep to the darkness wrapping around her in a protective cocoon.

Shelke remembers meeting the other Tsviets and getting to know them, though this is in fact a bit of a blur and not as clear as she would like. Rosso scares her; Shelke learns to keep well away from the older woman, whom she senses is freely dangerous and murderous and maybe a little sad. Argento is much better company; she is stoic and calm, kind in action but distant in manner. After the third time Rosso casually attacks Shelke, Argento creates two energy sabers for her.

"Protect yourself," she says, closing the girl's small hands around the handles and teaches her how to fight with them, and Shelke wants to cry (but she doesn't, because only little girls cry, and Shelke is not a little girl anymore) because Argento is like the big sister she wishes would save her from this nightmare.

(She's pinched and pinched and pinched until her arms are perpetually blue, but she still hasn't woken up.)

Meeting Weiss (and any other time he is near her) is an incurable blur, and she's not entirely sure why. He is introduced to her as Weiss the Immaculate Emperor, the best of the Tsviets and certainly better than her, who is the weakest. There's something about him that frightens her even more than Rosso; maybe it's the barely restrained strength that causes even the Restrictors to handle him with care, maybe the predatory way in which his presence swallows attention, like a puppeteer playing with their strings, or perhaps the pale whiteness of his hair and skin.

Yes, she thinks almost dreamily one day on the table, Weiss is the puppeteer, cruel and uncaring about his puppets but it's okay because they're made of wood and they're not real. She is not real, _I am not real, I am notnotnotnot…_

Her half-lucid thoughts keep her occupied and distant from the too-pale room, which annoys the Researchers because SND links are hard enough to initiate without a distracted test subject. They do something that sends white-hot waves of pain traveling through her body, and as Shelke twists in pain she thinks it's really much easier than it should be to imagine Weiss in a whitewhite coat as it tortures her.

She is released from her restraints (she only needs two now, she is somewhat ridiculously proud to note) and walks the familiar path back to her bed. Her head hurts from the dives and her skin feels painfully tight, so she shambles along and doesn't notice there's someone in front of her until she runs into him.

"Careful, lass," a richly accented voice says, warm hands on her shoulders steadying her, and she looks up into a young face with redred eyes and hair as black as the darkness she always craves after so much white.

She can't help but stare at him. She has a feeling she looks ridiculous, a small girl with her hair mussed and eyes too bright with the sheen of pain, thin mouth parted with something like wonder. This is confirmed by the boy(man?) as he curls his lip. "Cat got your tongue?" he says, and her heart thumps because his smirk is not malicious and his words are teasing.

Only teasing.

Shelke blinks, trying to make her eyes less-bright. "Who are you?" she finally asks, fists clenched.

A small 'hm' as he looks her up and down. "How remiss of me not to introduce myself," he says pleasantly, and there's a whimsy to his voice that she decides she likes. "Nero the Sable, at your service." He bows grandly, almost mockingly.

She doesn't trust him. "You're a Tsviet?" she demands, carefully backing away. "I've never seen you before."

His smile turns condescending. "Perhaps because you never look up. Are your feet really so fascinating?"

An unwelcome warmth steals across her skin; she is blushing. She is so surprised that her skin still has the ability to do that she doesn't say anything. Moments pass spent just looking at each other, the silence building.

"I'm Shelke," she says, for the lack of anything better to say. "Shelke Rui."

"Shelke," he repeats slowly, as if tasting the name.

She supposes he might've said more, but she is reminded that this is Deepground, and as approachable this _Nero_ may be, he's still dangerous. She flees.

* * *

The years pass. Shelke doesn't grow, something that she doesn't notice until Argento argues with the Restrictors about it. While Argento lays recovering, her right eye a mangled mess padded with soft gauze, Shelke pinches her arm one last time, and lets the bruises fade until they too are just a memory of hope. She contents herself with learning to survive in Deepground and tries not to think of how she'll never grow up to be as pretty as Argento is.

That is, until-

"Shelke."

"Nero."

She is startled momentarily by his hands reaching out to grasp her. Her body stiffens, and she is forced to tilt her head back to meet Nero's eyes. There's something a little desperate in them, and it makes her stomach plummet and her skin shiver.

"Help me," he says, and she wants to smile because Nero is a master of manipulation, and as usual, she can't tell whether his words form an order or a plea. Probably an order, she would think, but his eyes are confusing her.

"What do I do?"

His fingers clench around the thin bones of her shoulder, and her mind goes blank as she is pulled into an embrace.

"W-what're you-"

"We are always being watched," he murmurs into her hair, and the knots in her stomach can't seem to decide whether to tighten or unravel with this revelation. Of course, she thinks distantly.

With difficulty, she pulls herself together. "What do I do?" she repeats.

"You will perform synaptic net dives and gather information on Deepground's activities and schedules."

She stares straight ahead into the glowing blue lines of his mako suit, feeling slightly dizzy. "Why?" she asks, then bites her lip in lieu of a flinch.

He presses even closer, and she can feel him smirk into her hair. "You question me?" he says pleasantly. There's a whimsy in his tone, but it's dangerous now like it never was before, and she wonders at how they've changed. She doesn't say anything, but her hands hang loosely at her side, muscles tensing in preparation. Her fingers brush against her wrist, where her mastered Shield materia is strapped to her gloved skin.

"We are going to rebel, Shelke," he whispers. "We are going to take Deepground for ourselves."

Her body shakes. She thinks of the Restrictor- _"Do not resist"-_ she thinks of Nero's arms around her, threatening and cold, of what he's proposing; she wonders if she has anything to lose; strangely, she thinks of Shalua.

"I will do as you say." The words are stated in monotone, unwavering despite her wild heartbeat and jumbled thoughts. She feels oddly proud of herself.

"There's a good lass," he breathes into her ear. For a moment, his grip tightens, making her shift uncomfortably as his fingers dig painfully, but then he releases her and is gone.

She is left contemplating the renewed bruises in her arms, and realizes that she hasn't breathed once during the entire meeting.

* * *

The next few years are a blur of careful reconnaissance. Some of the experiments on Shelke prove successful, giving her the ability of real-time SND that bends light around her in a guise of invisibility. Shelke assumes it's only an experiment the Researchers are hoping to replicate in the Shinra troops, but a visit from a Restrictor and subsequent orders prove her wrong.

"I will spy on the Tsviets and report back to you," she repeats dully, her hand frozen in a salute that doesn't dare to relax until the dark clothed man leaves the white room. She lays back down at a harsh command from the Researchers and takes deep breaths, trying to control her reaction.

The Restrictors are suspicious, that much is for certain. How much of it is reasoned or simple paranoia, she does not know. Nor does she know what she is going to do now.

_Spy._ If the Tsviets discover she had turned traitor, they would kill her. If the Restrictors discover she lied to them, they would kill her. Either way, she is doomed. She closes her eyes against a pounding headache, and wishes the white would go away.

_Between a rock and a hard place,_ Shalua used to say. _The only thing to do is the right thing to do. _

But there is no right or wrong in Deepground. No moral compass to point the way, no loyalty to guide. The unspoken rule between Deepground soldiers is to follow who is powerful, and that is Weiss, Weiss who is _adored_ by his subordinates, Weiss who frightens and repulses her and inspires no loyalty in her, not like he does in Nero.

Nero the Sable. Where his brother is palewhiteanger, harshly bright and absolute, Nero is a darksoft_something_ that refuses definition; where Weiss seems to reflect and intensify light, Nero drains it, always surrounded by the impenetrable darkness and screams of Oblivion. She shouldn't find it comforting, but she does.

Loyalty. The right thing. Only when she is back in her bed, pressed into soothing darkness and intense exhaustion, does she admit that it all points, however vaguely, at Nero.

The next day, under the pretense of flirtatious nearness, she tells Nero of the development. He strokes her hair, smiles without teeth, and she notes how at this distance, the tired agony in his face is just visible behind the strips of metal. She wonders at it, then remembers the metal wings newly attached to his spine.

She reports carefully planned conversations between the Tsviets to the Restrictors, lets them think that yes, she is forthcoming in her duty and states it all in a now-perfect monotone designed to deflect attention.

Monotone and expressionless is safe. She has known this since she used to steal extra sweets before dinner, but never was she able to execute it with any success until now. She supposes that certain death is a better motivator than Shalua's mock-seriousness, and so doesn't think too much of it when she is given the title of the Transparent.

Time passes in a haze of building secrets and mako injections that make her violently ill, but enable her to put her invisibility to practical use. She discovers how to apply it in her SND links, conceals this from the Researchers, and uses it to delve freely into Patricia's databases.

The day Azul is given SSS status is also the day she finds out about the chip implants.

"Nero," she says, and he leans back to look at her. "Every Deepground recruit has had a chip implanted in their brains that prevents action against the lead Restrictor."

His fingers halt in a traced circle on her shoulder. "What are you saying?" he forces out finally, and she is cautious now.

"We cannot physically attempt to rid of our masters," she says quietly, and doesn't react when her bones creak under the increased pressure. The darkness in her room intensifies, and the howling cold of Oblivion licks at her skin.

A few moments are spent in silence as Nero regains control of his darkness. "What do we do?" he mutters, almost to himself.

"I have an idea," she says, and this time she does flinch when his redred eyes focus on hers with narrowed intensity. "There are some recent recruits who have not yet been processed and inducted properly. They may not have the chip yet."

His breath drains the warmth from her neck. "There is no way to keep them that way."

"There is," she contradicts, and she knows it's only because of the importance of the situation that she is able to display this level of disrespect without retribution. "It may be possible for me to use an SND to implant memories in the overseeing Restrictor in order to make him think he has already completed the implant."

She hears his slow intake of breath, hears the genuine smile in his voice as he congratulates her, "Clever lass."

He doesn't mention the danger this undertaking will put her in, so neither does she.

* * *

The plan, with Argento's help, is surprisingly easy to concoct. She makes the dive, conceals her virtual presence with ease born from long years of practice, implants the memory of a surgery on a particular recruit chosen with care. Weiss makes a point of objecting to the dependency on only one recruit, but they collectively decide that to attempt any more implants would make it easier for the Restrictors to notice the discrepancy.

Argento, fulfilling her role of instructor, trains the recruit.

"She shows promising skill," she informs them in the training room. It is a rare occasion when all the Tsviets are gathered, as it attracts much attention from their supervisors, so she chooses her words cautiously. "I believe she can and will rise to Tsviet level."

"Yes, but is it enough?" Rosso muses. _Enough to defeat the Restrictor._ Shelke completes the implication in her mind.

Argento shakes her head, her long black hair rippling with the motion. Shelke half-wonders at how the older woman fights so well with such long hair in the way.

It is then that Weiss speaks. "We are handicapped," he murmurs, escaping Nero's bullets with ease. "But we do not know to what extent. Do we, Shelke?"

Attention turns to her. Shelke meets his eyes, looks away, and just manages to dodge Azul's would-be crippling blow. "No," she half-gasps. At a signal from Weiss, Azul withdraws immediately with a slight smirk. She straightens, hating herself for showing weakness. "No," she repeats steadily, quiet under the cover of Nero's gunfire and Rosso's shrieking laughs. "I only know we cannot attack while there is enough strength to maintain the chip. But if there weren't…" She trails off.

"So it is that we only need our chip-less friend to weaken," Weiss sighs. "Until then, we can do nothing."

The order is clear. Do nothing. Stay away, draw no attention. Shelke reports to the Restrictors meaningless conversations and fabricated issues.

It is not enough; their suspicion mounts. Nero is taken away, and Weiss tells them with dangerously blank eyes that his brother is straitjacketed and chained.

"They consider him too dangerous now," Weiss says bitterly. Soon after, Weiss is taken too, chained to the throne in the reactor, only let up for experimentation.

The news is a blow, Shelke knows this. Nero's abilities would have been instrumental in the inevitable fight. Beyond that, she is sickeningly aware of what Deepground will eventually do to anybody they consider 'too dangerous'.

"We don't have much time," Argento says. "But we cannot act without the defect, who isn't ready."

"Leave the defect to me," Shelke says firmly.

The idea is born to her late that night. She lays awake, thinking of Nero, who must be in pain, of how something she said to the Restrictors must have caused it. She thinks of the defect, Chip the Chipless (nickname courtesy of Rosso), whom she must find a way to inspire to great heights in order to defeat the Restrictor. She thinks of Shalua, of Nero, of emotional manipulation.

She knows what to do, but she is unsettled at how easily she thinks it, how easily she knows she will do it.

She begins the SND link as soon as possible, sets the memories of a dead but loved and unforgotten sister in the defect's mind. And if the sister looks _a little_ like herself, or has the same voice as Shelke when she screamed for her big sister … well, it's irrelevant. Shelke creates Usher to help speed things along.

Protecting the defect becomes something of a hassle. The Restrictor is quick to notice that Chip is indeed chipless, and Shelke is forced to send Azul to run interference.

Tension rises. Both Nero and Weiss are gone, Rosso becomes half-insane in a desperate bid for freedom, and controlling both Azul and Rosso is impossible without Argento to reassert authority.

"How trifling," she half-mutters to herself, determinedly facing away, and she's not entirely sure what she's referring to. She pays dearly for the moment of frustration, though, as a crippling blow sends her sprawling to the floor. Her vision is hazy; for a moment she sees three women staring at her in horrified silence. She stares back with a tired sort of curiosity and doesn't attempt to move as the Restrictor pins her to the ground with a sharp heel.

"What's that?" the Restrictor's voice is smooth, silky. "Are you talking back to me?"

_Do not resist._ Three women solidify into one; the image is wants to say no, but she's just too tired. She's exhausted from the constant SND link and the way it reminds her, over and over, of Shalua and desperate screams for her big sister, _big sister, helpmehelp_. She's exhausted from maintaining Usher, from moving both her body and his, from seeing through both eyes, seeing Nero and Rosso's anguish and feeling nothing of her own. She thinks about all this and does not react when the woman raises her gun to point at Shelke's assailant.

At that moment, she has this feeling, an ache, that tells her with the clicks and whirs of the surrounding machinery that the world is moving unbearably slowly, too slow. The Restrictor's words- he is saying something to the recruit, but she only hears an unintelligible grind of sounds- remind her that she needs to protect the woman, she's their only hope. But Shelke feels oddly disconnected in a way she supposes feels a bit like an SND link, but much more intense; she strains to get up, but her muscles don't respond, her body seemingly glued to the ground by an impenetrable force. Her senses seem to exist only outside her body now, ranging freely through the walls and the ground and ceiling; she swears she can feel the world spinning.

She stares up at the ceiling with white lights burning weakly through the mako-stained fog. She presses her hands to her eyes and wonders if she's insane and whether it matters.

(She supposes not.)

Far away, Nero screams.

She hears it, though she's not sure how. Her senses crawl back into her body at the sound, almost as if running away from it, and the moment just before she is brought back to earth, the fleeting thought that it feels like a dream (she hasn't had one of those for a while) tickles the back of her mind. It fades almost instantly, and she allows her eyes to refocus, her body to fold itself and straighten.

"I will do it," she says. She feels thin, scattered, but her voice is solid. "In order to test my prowess."

The Restrictor makes a sound of something like amusement. "Then show me the strength of the Transparent of the Tsviets."

_I am the Transparent. _

"Stand up," she orders briskly. "Do as the Restrictor said." She eyes the woman on the ground, who stares at her with an expression that's easy to read, if unfamiliar.

She doesn't want to hurt her.

Shelke's voice softens. "Fight back a little." Encouragement? Not really.

Shelke lets her eyes glow, drawing on the strength of the mako permeating the air. "Technical Cancel," she says emotionlessly. Words spill out of her mouth to explain, but she doesn't remember where they came from, she only remembers the hum of energy as she _splits_, one body turning into nine.

(She doesn't know why she chooses nine, every time.)

The distraction works. The Restrictor leaves, and she is momentarily amused by how he doesn't seem to notice their interference every time he attempts to kill the 'defect'. It is uncharacteristically remiss of him.

This line of thought is distracted; she almost smiles at her use of Nero's favorite word. Later, she will wonder what conclusion she would've arrived at if she had continued that line of thought. But by then, it will not matter, so she contents herself with healing the defect as well as she can, Nero's screams echoing in her mind.

* * *

Shelke puts her plan into motion. Argento delivers the new swords for Weiss she designed herself. Shelke keeps Weiss updated through an SND link. He asks about his brother; she has no answer.

The moment is almost here. She can feel it in her frail bones, in the hum of energy radiating from Weiss in waves. Weiss can feel it too, she knows; he is desperate, suddenly, throwing all of his considerable strength against something he cannot fight.

It would pain Nero to see his brother in battle with a handicap, and she can understand it. Weiss is a force not meant to be restrained. The coal black iron of the shackles binding him mars his pale brilliance, like an ugly black wing ripping from an angel's back, like a stain on a new white dress she would've forgotten by now if it weren't for the defect.

She refocuses on the defect, now lying crumpled from Weiss's assault. Shelke watches as Weiss bends his head, white hair blending with the woman's darker locks, his mouth moving in an inaudible whisper before he picks her up and tosses her, not-ungently, out of sight, where Shelke stands waiting.

Rosso and Azul move in, keep the Restrictor distracted while she deals with the defect.

"You have memories from before you came here, don't you?" she asks pleasantly. The woman looks up at her with big eyes, and for a moment, Shelke is glad she doesn't speak.

"Do you remember that man?" she points, somewhat unnecessarily, at the Restrictor, who is watching the battle. His emotions were impossible to read when she was younger, but long years of that same look aimed at her taught her that he is watching Weiss's victory with something like glee.

_Do not resist. _Glee. _I am the Transparent._

_You cannot use your Transparence for long, can you?_ Rosso had said that.

Shelke redoubles the strength of the SND, forcing the Restrictor's image into the vast expanse of the defect's memories; the sheer size and richness of the mental web makes it difficult to battle through. It takes a while before she can implant the memory in the right set of connections, and she notes clinically that this last manipulation will probably break the woman.

"Do you remember now?" A useless question. The rage is clear in the defect's face. "The Restrictor will use any means to recruit new candidates." Shelke thinks of her own kidnapping. "You had something important taken from you before you came here, didn't you?" Strangely, she thinks of Nero's mother, lost in darkness.

The needling words work; the woman stands up, her body shaking with rage and grief. Nero might be proud.

She uses Usher to give one final push, sends her to Argento to keep her out of the way as Weiss, Rosso, and Azul wear the Restrictor down.

Weiss calls out; the harsh notes ring unpleasantly in Shelke's ears. He begins to glow, focusing on the Restrictor with the same narrowed intensity Nero had aimed at her, once upon a time, long, long ago. In front of her, the defect stands, carefully aiming her gun.

_Do it,_ she thinks bleakly. _Shoot, kill him. Rip, tear, crush…_ How many times has she heard this from Weiss? Enough to keep her awake at night, shivering with the white-drenched fear he inflicts in her, as murderous words slip from his mouth in a caress almost as smooth as his brother's.

That, too, is a blur.

When the shot sounds, Shelke doesn't really believe it. She watches the Restrictor slump to the ground, gasp more with shock than pain; she sees him lunge at the defect who has completed the mission Shelke set for her; she sees the man die with the same, curious look of glee about him. She doesn't believe it until the Tsviets laugh, and she cannot stop the half-twitch, half-flinch as Weiss, Azul, and Rosso gasp sounds of what could be mirth, could be relief, could be anything but happiness.

Shivers crawl down her spine. She lowers her eyes and waits for them to finish.

Finally, Weiss addresses her as he stares down at the defect (she supposes she should stop calling the woman that, but for the life of her, she cannot remember the woman's name). "Can this one still be of any use?"

Shelke stares at the mess of sprawled limbs, the gaping stare. "No," she says calmly. "The prolonged SND has rendered most of the brain inaccessible. It's only a matter of time before it breaks down completely."

"Really?" Rosso remarks with casual cruelty. "And after all that hard work. What a shame."

It's a challenge, but Weiss is still looking at her. Shelke doesn't respond.

"Then hurry up and find a suitable replacement. After all, no one knows what the Restrictors really look like."

"So we have to find another one?" Azul grumbles. "This is becoming frustrating."

She does not share his frustration. She is glad to be rid of this SND, of the memory.

"It can't be helped," Weiss says, and Shelke is immeasurably relieved, her defensive hunch relaxing slightly. "Only one out of hundreds can make it this far."

"Ordinary humans simply aren't as strong as we are," Rosso says absentmindedly, a glint in her eye mirroring her voice. Already, she is thinking of a new battle, more people to kill.

"Precisely." Weiss's voice is not quite amused, not quite serious. Shelke senses his attention wandering.

"Well, it's actually quite simple," she says demurely, deflecting the others' hostile attention with ease. "With the help of the HJ virus, I am able to hack into Patricia and bypass security. Then all that's needed is to pick a suitable subject before it's planted with a chip."

Weiss makes an approving sound. "Shelke, find a new one quickly."

Argento is silent.

She doesn't watch them walk away, but listens to their footsteps retreat. Azul's is easiest to identify, his feet's slow tread leaving thundering earthquakes in their wake. Moments behind him are the sharp clicks of Rosso's stilettos, and shadowing them are Argento's solid steps. She closes her eyes and focuses. Weiss's footsteps leave no sound.

"Now then," she says, almost to herself, watching curiously as the holographic image of a false Tsviet crouches over his fallen comrade. Has he been there the whole time? "Time to terminate the subject's SND." She releases the link. Usher flickers and fades, his eyes pinned to the woman's until they're torn from reality. How odd.

Shelke begins to walk away, but remembers, "That's right, there's one thing I should tell you." She moves to stand over the defect. Chip the Chipless. She bends slightly at the waist so as to look the woman in the eye, making sure she is listening. Shelke wonders if this is kindness or cruelty. "You have no sister." _I have no sister._ "Well then, thank you for your hard work. Farewell."

She leaves the woman on the floor, most likely to die, but she doesn't think about that. All she can think of is the glee that colored her usual monotone with those words. All she can think of is Nero, his manipulations and his thin arms around her in a twisted parody of an embrace, now locked to his shoulders in a poetic sort of reflection, bathed in the intense cold of Oblivion.

She powers up her sabers and leaves the room.

* * *

She takes Argento with her to find Nero. She hasn't had her mako treatment for a while, and does not have the strength to battle through the reactor herself. The girl and woman traverse the older sections of the reactor in silence, only pausing for Argento to exchange news and orders with fellow rebels.

Eventually, they reach the corridor which she knows from Usher's last visit contains Nero. Shelke moves to step inside when Argento suddenly draws away. Shelke turns to look at her, eyebrow slightly quirked in query.

"I will leave you here," Argento says, and refusing to explain further, does just that. Shelke listens to her walk briskly away, confusion prickling her thoughts.

The sound of a distant explosion startles her. Shaking off her new hesitation, Shelke slips into the room and closes the door, locking it behind her as a small measure of security.

She turns to assess her surroundings, and is met with the shock of dark red eyes staring straight into her own. She suppresses the urge to touch her hand to her pounding heart.

"Nero," she says.

He doesn't reply, just stares at her. His eyes are wild.

She's really not sure what to do, but meeting his gaze is difficult. She averts her eyes, takes in the thick chains binding him to the metal, the thick cloth pinning his arms to his shoulders. It must be painful.

"Shelke," he says. His voice is hoarse. "Help me."

It's definitely an order this time. There is no playful whimsy designed to confuse her, no lethal cordiality, replaced by a monotone even less expressive than hers.

She moves closer, unable to prevent her shudder as she passes into the wisps of Oblivion. Her sabers light up in protest as she cuts through the chains with difficulty, the screech of the metal drowned out by the screams of people long gone in darkness.

As soon as the chains are off, Nero falls heavily onto her. She gasps at the sudden pressure, folding her knees to absorb the force, then releases him quickly. He is freezing cold, colder than the metal, cold as his darkness. She discretely rubs her hands, trying to regain warmth the brief contact had stolen.

"Are you okay?" she asks, unable to keep the tightness out of her voice.

"I am numb," he says slowly. His mouth moves slowly, forming the words with difficulty. Concern floods her.

She leans over to undo the buckles that keep his limbs trapped, momentarily frustrated by the struggle the rust-choked metal puts up against her small fingers. His arms fall from his shoulders, too devoid of sensation to even move out of the crossed position.

Feeling as though in a dream again, Shelke picks up his arms and sets them carefully to his sides. His skin is covered faithfully by his mako suit, invisible to her eyes, but she imagines it to be bluish-black in color, and this worries her.

"W-Weiss," he forces out.

She looks at his agonized face. There is no Heal materia in Deepground. "Weiss is fine," she says, almost gently. "We have disposed of the Restrictor. Weiss has taken control of Deepground."

His eyes flicker.

She feels unaccountably nervous. "They will be waiting in the central reactor," she says aloud. He doesn't reply, his forehead scrunched in a primal ward against waves of dizziness.

She opens her mouth to say something- she's not entirely sure what- but before her monotone can form the first word, the world is suddenly rent apart. A keening silence rings in her ears until it explodes, heated frost creeping over her body so quickly that she doesn't realize it's there until she sees Nero's mouth open. He is outlined by a sudden hellish sort of red, and she has no idea what he's saying.

"Shelke," he says. "Shelke."

_I am Shelke the Transparent._

_I am transparent._

A crushing force descends on her; she retreats into cold, cold darkness. Just barely he is there too, hovering just beyond her reach but that's okay, she would never have the courage to reach for him. She curls away from him and his coldness, curls into herself and wonders where Argento is, and why she had left.

The next time she opens her eyes, the world is washed with an ugly green. _A grim green_, she decides, but doesn't have the energy to smile at the alliteration. Nevertheless, it is an oddly comforting sight, familiar and faintly energizing. She breathes in the distinct, sharp odor of the mako, drawing strength from it until her vision focuses.

Azul stands in front of her tank, blank-faced and uncharacteristically patient. He waits for her to clamber out of the tank, and when she sways from the sudden shift of mediums, he reaches out to steady her. It unnerves her so much that she falls anyway, slumping against the glass and staring at him. She is as confused as she is mistrustful.

He ignores this, "I am to escort you to Nero."

Nero. She nods. She's not sure if she can handle Nero right now, but she is rather confused and Nero at this point really can't confuse her more than he already has. Not the way Azul is now, almost scaring her with his sudden lack of outright hostility. Did something happen?

"Very well," she agrees, and follows his hulking frame out the door, feeling alarmingly light. She concentrates on shaking off the lingering fluidity in her limbs. Somehow, it's a bit different this time- not the rubbery control of her muscles the mako gives her after a bath, but a leeching weakness. She's so focused on the disconcerting sensation that she doesn't notice Azul stopping and walks right into his back, sending her sprawling back onto the floor.

He turns and glares at her, his frightening yellow irises gleaming palely in their sea of black. She shudders as she gets to her feet, moving timidly out of the way as he storms out, willing to allow this show of weakness only because right now, she is nothing but weak.

"What happened?" she asks Nero, then bites her lip.

To her surprise, he answers more honestly than she expected, "There was an explosion. You were burned badly."

She blinks, looks down at her hands. They are smooth, clean, and unblemished, though now she recognizes a faint crispness to her skin when she curls them into fists, as if afraid to stretch across her thin bones.

"It's been three days," Nero says, almost distractedly, and she looks up at him, surprised. His hair is even messier than normal, and he hasn't bothered to remove the straitjacket, letting the tubes of cloth hang limply at his sides like an extra pair of limbs.

Three days. She tries not to think that he saved her from dying. Flustered, she changes the subject, "Where's Argento?"

He looks at her then, and his expression does not change at all. He once may have hesitated- Shelke can sort of feel that he _wants _to hesitate, but he doesn't. "Argento died," he says bluntly.

The brief burst of warmth disappears. Shelke doesn't believe it. "Argento wouldn't die," she replies calmly, as if debating the matter. "There is no one in all of Deepground except a Tsviet who could kill her." A sudden thought struck her. "It wasn't Ros-"

"_Shelke_," he cuts through her, sounding genuinely irritated. "She wasn't killed. She _died." _

She stares at him, into his redred eyes. He looks tired.

"She died," he repeats. "She killed herself."

"She wouldn't," Shelke says automatically.

"Traditional Wutaiian style," he states baldly. "Ritual disembowelment. She may have tried to decapitate herself afterwards, but-"

"Stop!" Shelke has her hands to her ears in a gesture she hasn't made since she was nine years old, and screams, "_Stop!_" Oh please, stopstopstop.

Silence reigns. She opens her eyes. He's not looking at her now, but has moved away to Patricia's console. Shelke takes the momentary break from his attention to calm herself. Monotone, monotone. Monotone is safe. Monotone mind, monotone thoughts.

_Argento, _she thinks bleakly. Aloud, "What do you require of me?"

"Information." His back is to her, so she can't see his face, but his voice is sharp and tense. "What do you know of the Restrictors' safeguards?"

She frowns. "Implants that prevented us from harming them." She knows he knows this already.

"Indeed," he bites, "And yet, mere minutes after our victory, my brother was rendered unconscious and is unable to wake." He turns to look at her now, and gives her a glare, a real _glare_, and Shelke is frozen in place. "What do you know of this, Shelke?"

"Nothing," she breathes, and bites her lip to muffle the scream as ice-cold darkness drenches her, wrenches her skin apart. The oppression lifts after a few moments, leaving her on her knees and gasping in pain. "Nothing," she repeats, eyes to the floor, too afraid to look up.

His feet move into view. She holds her breath as his gloved hand grasps her chin and forces her face up. Looking into his face, she can see now that his eyes look half-crazed, the red irises glinting angrily.

His hand slips down to circle her throat. "Find out what is hurting my brother," he orders. Shelke can only nod, grimacing as the hold tightens. "Or I will kill you."

"I-yes," she gasps, now actively straining for breath. She tries to twist away, to pry his fingers off, but his mechanical wings brush her back with ease. His face bears down upon her, and she dimly feels glad that his expression is mostly hidden behind the metal mask. At this angle, only his eyes are visible, glowing and implacable.

"I will kill you," he says again. "Don't disappoint me, Shelke."

She wants to say that she won't, but her hold on reality slips away. Her vision blurs, dims, and when Nero finally lets go, Shelke is asleep. Terrified dreams of Argento- _Protect yourself- _and Shalua –_Sweet dreams-_ give way into perception of contact with a rough cloth, and Shelke sleeps.

* * *

Some days of exhaustive research later, Shelke finally leaves Patricia's console and gives her report to Nero. She tells him of the degenerative virus uploaded into Weiss's body, triggered by the Restrictors' deaths, that it is a derivative of a similar affliction Genesis Rhapsodos suffered, and that the only potential cure she has found is the Protomateria, which will purify its host body, and that if anybody would know how to find and use it, it would be Professor Hojo of Shinra's Science Research Department who conducted the original experiment.

Nero nods and tells her to find him. She tells him that Hojo died some time ago, but hastily reassures him that she found his mental imprint on the Worldwide Network and has successfully contacted the scientist's remains.

"He says that if Weiss can perform an SND into the network, he will be able to link with him and keep the virus from reaching the brain." Nero doesn't seem impressed by this, so she tries again. "Weiss will be safe, for a time."

"… Alright," Nero agrees. "Make another dive. Tell Weiss of this."

She obeys.

Neither of them behave as though anything had happened. Shelke thinks that they are getting a little too good at switching faces.

Upon receiving Hojo's instructions, Weiss makes the dive, and to Nero's delight, the link is a success. Weiss's palepale eyes open and he smiles, but Shelke notes that Weiss doesn't really smile, it's more like a _grin_. A grin lifting his mouth and baring his sharp white teeth in a grimace that doesn't match his brother's smirk. She stands at the door of the white room and sees Weiss and Nero, grinning and smirking at each other, and doesn't believe they're brothers at all.

She should wait for any more orders Weiss may have and Nero will definitely have, but the sight repulses her. Even though she's bone-tired, she activates her Transparence and disappears, pretending not to notice red eyes following her easily.

She goes to her room and sits on the hard, cold bed, and spends some time simply trailing her fingers over the rough linen. She wants to lay down, but the room is dark and smells of rust. Shelke eyes the patches of dried blood, and names which ones caused each blur in her memory. This morbid activity is soon interrupted when an unearthly choir of screams erupts in her left ear, and she forces herself to stay still as Nero materializes next to her.

"Shelke," there is no apology in his voice, but then, she isn't expecting any. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was attempting to sleep," she responds immediately. The dark mark directly in front of her was caused by Rosso.

He sneers. "These are not our _rooms_ anymore, Shelke. We are free now," the words are said with such relish that Shelke glances at him momentarily. Free like nearly dying, but she doesn't have the energy to comment.

"Yes," she agrees noncommitedly. They're silent now, but it's not so hostile as she feared it might be, or maybe she's too tired to feel it. "Where is Argento?" she asks, something she's been half-wondering about. "Where is her body?"

A strange look sweeps his face. "I had the bombardiers take care of that. I imagine they put her in the morgue."

She is disbelieving. "You mean you don't know?" She's so angry that she blurts out the recrimination, but she can't bring herself to regret it. _Argento_. He'd left her to the common hands of soldiers who did not know Argento, did not respect her or her sacrifices.

Nero doesn't reply.

Shelke thinks of Argento, blood leaking from the hollowed cavern to the right of her aquiline nose. Anger, undiluted and fierce, breaks through the monotone haze of her mind, propels her to her feet. Nero stares at her, something of a challenge playing along the smile on his thin lips, and Shelke is reminded of when she first met him.

Still small, still bright-eyed with pain. She hasn't changed much since then. But the blush staining her face is born from anguish and rage and something that in another life she might recognize as betrayal.

She hasn't changed. But he has.

"You-" she struggles for invective, anything to push this fire from her mouth and throat, but it's choking her and steals all words.

He stands up too, his tall, lean form unfolding like his mechanical wings. "Report to me tomorrow morning," he orders. "I have more work for you." Oblivion howls, and he disappears in darkness, but not before Shelke feels the shadow of deep cold brushing against her skin.

Then she is alone and her face buries into her hands because she doesn't know what to feel anymore.

Sleep comes to her in shallow, disconcerting waves that night. Soon, she is unsure whether she is asleep or awake and the line between the two worlds is nonexistent. She moves through Deepground's halls pulsing with a very real pain, but the lightness in her body and mind is born from the dream she's fallen so deeply into.

When she steps into the Deepground morgue and feels the cool septic air wash over her face, she wakes up. It is not unlike a mako bath, she thinks, in the way it forces an acute burn in her lungs, streaking straight to her brain.

The woman at the desk leaps to her feet and salutes. "Shelke the Transparent," she blurts out, barely containing her nervousness. "How may I be of service?"

Shelke has never been in here before. She looks at the woman, whose hair is offensively bright. "Argento," she states simply.

The woman's fingers skitter across the computer keys. "Well, you see, normally Deepground keeps bodies in the morgue for future experimentation but in the case of mutilation such as-" she catches sight of Shelke's glowing eyes and cuts herself off. "She is buried in plot 63-B."

Shelke taps her foot lightly. The woman salutes again (how unnecessary, Shelke thinks idly) and leads her silently through another set of halls that open onto a large expanse of rocky ground. She points at a mound of slightly raised dirt, as though recently disturbed. "Normally, we would use the mechanized plots," she says, "but with the high death toll of recent events, we've been forced to improvise."

The woman sounds apologetic. She must not have been with Deepground very long. "Leave," Shelke says aloud. She listens to the echoes of the footsteps until once more the dimly lit cavern is silent.

She stands for a long time, half-heartedly trying to decide what to do, but the oppressive dark beats her thoughts into submission. She stands and stares until the deep rust of the ground seems too bright to look at.

Ritual disembowelment, Nero had said. Traditional Wutaiian style. She may have tried to decapitate herself afterwards, but-

But there had been no second. Shelke recalls the rare times Argento had talked of herself, her country, her people. Those times had not been so rare when Shelke was very young, in the first few months after her kidnapping. Argento had often comforted the terrified girl with Wutaiian legends and stories, and Shelke remembers them now, of the heroes who sacrificed themselves rather than betray their missions.

She had thought them awe-inspiring. Now, she supposes it feels more like cowardly betrayal than anything.

She doesn't realize she's digging until her fingers close upon rough cloth, making her jump back nervously. Argento had not been buried very deeply, nor with anything resembling a coffin. But despite the exposure to the elements, Argento looks very much the same. They had at least washed the blood off, or the dirt had absorbed it. Shelke reaches forward and brushes the rest of the dirt off her face with trembling fingers.

She looks as stoic as ever, expression closed forbiddingly into steely determination. It makes the weight on her lungs a little lighter, that Argento had died with honor, though it must have been very painful.

The cut on her neck is not very deep.

"I would have been your second," Shelke says quietly. Her words echo into a sibilant hiss, and she waits until it dies away to pull out her sabers.

Argento had made them for her. Did she know then what they would mean to Shelke? What Shelke would use them for?

She draws a precise line; the slim weapon slices neatly through, completing the original cut. She bows, though she does not know why, rearranges Argento's hands to lay at her side, smooths her clothes out. Her hands bump into something sharp, and she almost smiles at the small silver dagger. She moves the dirt back, buries her carefully and taps the ground firmly into place again.

She leaves the dagger stabbed into the ground a bit above Argento's forehead, its hilt curving into the air as the only mark Shelke can provide.

"I won't forgive you for this," she tells the empty air. No response.

That night, Shelke dreams of the sky.

* * *

"Who is she?"

"Doctor Lucrecia Crescent."

Shelke looks up at Nero, her interest piqued by the muted undertone of his voice. "So I am to collect the data files, the fragments she left within the network?" _Do you know what this will do to me?_

The red eyes flicker. "Correct." _Yes._ "Then you are to use that data to find the Protomateria. That is where he requires your assistance."

"He?" She doesn't know why she says it, but she regrets it the moment the jibe slips. His eyes pin her with alarming ferocity.

"Do you wish to dance?" he asks pleasantly. A shadow touches her neck.

"No," she says quietly, and suppresses a shiver as the shadow passes her ear, leaving a faint howl ringing. "No."

"Good lass," he approves.

When he leaves, she sits down at the console and begins typing, ignoring her trembling fingers. "Uplink successful," she says aloud, out of habit more than anything. "Now commencing SND."

She is delved into the digital world, where the remnants of Dr. Crescent's neural network await her. She doesn't allow herself to hesitate. "Begin processing," she says, but further words are obscured by her gasp as information and something more begin to stream unchecked into her mind.

_Let me see him, just once!_

_This is not an experiment. _

Shelke tries to stop, to escape.

_Born of the Lifestream._

_You had his eyes._

_Chaos, born of terra corrupt._

Shelke tries to steer. (There's something burying the contents of her chest, her mind.)

_Omega- Jenova's cells. I'm sorry. I can't take it anymore._

_Give my son back! _

_As proof- __**never again**__. I didn't want to remember._

**I've done it.**

_Born was the chaos that took him… away from me. _

_The materia. I found- we found it. Together. _

_Never again._

_Give him back, give my son back! Let me see him! Just once! I'm so sorry. I can't. I'm sorry. I can't. Take it anymore. My body, my mind. Before I go, Jenova's cells- Vincent- data… I love… record- for him, wait, disperse, apply for fragment- survive. Hope. Who?_

_**Vincent Valentine.**_

(I'm so sorry.)

Shelke screams and screams.

* * *

When Shelke wakes up, she knows instantly there is something different, something _wrong_ inside her. Her hand strikes out blindly to smash against the familiar glass of her mako tank, but this time it doesn't calm her. She is in a frenzy, her small limbs lashing and hair flying, making the acidic liquid froth and splash violently from the tank.

There is a voice saying something, but her ears are muffled as if by pillows. A high-pitched keening is all she can hear, until the tank slides open and she tumbles onto solid ground.

She gasps for air. Nero frowns.

"What is wrong with you?" he asks, impatient.

"I'm so sorry," she half-sobs, then freezes.

She looks up at Nero, whose eyes widen, the only hint to his surprise. These are not her words.

"Nero," she tries to say, but the name that escapes her is "Vincent."

He gives her an odd look, then turns his attention back to the console at which he's siting. She recognizes it as the one she had been working on. It is burned and twisted, frazzling with sparks of blue electric energy.

"Explain."

"You're in my seat."

Nero's teeth grind audibly. "I do not have time for this nonsense, Shelke," he threatens. The air becomes darker.

She fights back the growing hysteria. "Nonsense?" The words stream from her against her will, as though pulled out of her by a subconscious that is not her own. "Care to join me?" She whimpers, clutches her head as it pulses.

A moment of silence, then- Nero appears before her, brushing her hands down and grasping her chin, tilting it to look into her eyes. "Your pupils are completely dilated," he says, almost to himself.

"Why are you so surprised?" she babbles. "Is my face that hideous?" _Uy._ She cringes.

A shocked smile lifts his lips. He looks so hilariously confused that Shelke has to repress a sudden giggle.

"I'm assuming the data fragments were more potent than we realized," he concludes. "I think I like you better this way."

She gives him a dirty look. He laughs sardonically.

"What, no clever quips?" he teases.

Annoyed, she keeps her lips tightly sealed in reply, refusing to let through anything else she doesn't want to say.

"Very well," he hums, but he seems a bit more relaxed. Some of the tension inside her uncurls. "Did you discover where the Protomateria is?"

"Give me my son," she immediately replies, and blanches.

He smirks. "Focus, Shelke. The Protomateria. Where is it?"

Shelke closes her eyes, lets the data float through her mind. His hands are still on her face, her hair lightly dusting the tattooed wrists. Her heart leaps wildly, and she bites her lip, fights it down.

"Vincent," she repeats. "Vincent Valentine."

_I'm so sorry. I love-_

She opens her eyes, looks at him. Wills her mouth into control. "Vincent Valentine has the Protomateria."

He exhales subtly in relief. "Good lass," he murmurs, and he brushes her hair in a slight commendation. "It's about time for Rosso and Azul to earn their keep."

"Not that I mind, though," she says, and sighs in defeat.

Nero sets Rosso and Azul to retrieve the Protomateria; in the meantime, Shelke organizes raid teams and avoids both brothers. Lucrecia's memories are more difficult to defragment than she had realized. She meanders around in silence, trying to organize and file the data. It's overwhelming.

So when she is summoned to the reactor, she stills at the doorway because there is this most awful sound echoing from below her feet. For a moment, she thinks she's been driven mad by the silence. The walls are lit with an unholy glow of green, but there's no smell of mako, and that _sound_, it's almost like-

"Screams." Nero appears, wisps of pulsing shadow trailing in his wake. "That's right, Shelke."

She doesn't know what to say. "So this is what happened to the Midgar survivors. I wondered where their bodies were."

He doesn't deny it. "It had to be done, Shelke," but the somber words do not match the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"Yes," she agrees, and tilts her head to the side to listen. There must be hundreds of people, their wails echoing from the darkness. _You would do anything for Weiss, _she knows. "Why?"

His eyes glimmer. "All in time, dear Shelke." His mechanized hands tap their fingers lightly against the guns holstered to his side. "What do you know of the WRO?"

"The World Regenesis Organization," she answers automatically. "According to the worldwide network, it is a volunteer organization created by an ex-Shinra employee after Meteor's destruction of Shinra HQ. Since then, the WRO has been largely responsible for rescue and repair operations, and acts as a de facto government."

"Do you know where their headquarters are?"

She watches his wings click against the deadly weapons. "No."

"Find out," he commands, staring at the slumped form of Weiss on his chair turned throne. "They must not be allowed to interrupt my mission." His back to her is tense. Shelke thinks that he may just be talking to himself.

She takes one last look at Weiss, who lifts his head unexpectedly to return her gaze with heavily lidded eyes. The look is undecipherable- she shudders and leaves.

* * *

When Shelke is assigned to raid the WRO headquarters with Azul, she doesn't protest. Rosso is kept busy with Deepground operations, and Nero with Weiss. She keeps herself scarce and content to escape the Tsviets' attention.

She ignores Lucrecia's whispers entirely. The memory fragments are just not integrating correctly, she claims to herself. Maybe the data extraction had gone wrong- an overexposed link- she had not been _entirely_ composed when she had connected. With time, the data should defragment.

Harder to ignore are the wild flashes of emotion- she is struck at odd times with strong giddiness or overwhelming sadness, the kind she hasn't felt since before Argento lost her eye. And always on her lips, clinging to the tip of her tongue like a stubborn tick, is that name.

Vincent Valentine.

The memories Lucrecia shares with her- the memories Shelke stole- have a lot to do with him. Intermittently throughout the day and all night long, Shelke is treated to the remembrance of a young man, tall, quiet, and (Lucrecia feels) endearingly, awkwardly shy.

Awkward shyness changes into irrepressible interest, which graduates to awe and appreciation, which finally matures into a deeply protective concern. Shelke witnesses it all; she sees, hears, and feels the memory of him as if it were her own, and it almost makes her feel as though she's violating something sacred, because those warm red eyes shone with something that could only be love.

Love. Shelke is no stranger to the concept's failings, flaws, and twisted downfalls, but for love to be so overwhelmingly positive and _happy_ throws her off completely. But the more contented and dazzlingly cheerful Lucrecia becomes, she is forced to recognize Vincent's deep, abiding love for her.

Personally, she can't see why. To her, Lucrecia seems like a child, unable to control herself and unable to handle the consequences of her unreasoned decisions. Moreover, she cries, cries much, too much. Shelke watches the story play out in her head with an ever-increasing revulsion for the woman: all but killing Dr. Valentine with her incompetence, hiding it from Vincent, welcoming and encouraging his attentions and then turning from him in favor of Dr. Hojo and her obsession with her thesis.

It leaves a sour taste in Shelke's mouth, the casual cruelty Lucrecia treats him with, a cruelty and indifference to it with which Shelke herself is all too bitterly familiar. Her contempt for Lucrecia deepens until it reaches a pit darker and lower than for the Restrictors. The Restrictors, at least, were honest about their cruelty; they didn't care about anyone and took no pains to hide it. Lucrecia had cared about Vincent, made him care, and then ripped it from him with her customary flightiness. The flightiness darkens quickly into something much more sinister; visions show Shelke Lucrecia's race for her own ambitions, the unbelievable low she stooped to- Hojo? Really? There was no other man in a fifty mile radius that would do? Shelke nearly vomits from _that_ memory-, becoming pregnant and volunteering her child for experimentation.

It is here that Shelke breaks from Lucrecia completely, the tone of the dreamed memory visions muted in her horror. Torture your own child? She thinks of Sephiroth, the violent insanity that had possessed him and how very much he had hurt others. Now viewing the data from the prism of her new knowledge, she senses a desperately sad quality to his insanity, the utter despair and shame his story carried and it had broken him. She knows because ( and this is difficult to admit, even to herself ) there is shame and despair in her own story, and maybe it had broken her too, broken since the day she looked into Nero's redred eyes and feared.

Deeply troubled, Shelke returns to Lucrecia's story. She sees Vincent killed with a dull lurching of both hearts, Lucrecia's and her own; she sees Lucrecia realize her folly and terrible sins, sees her revive Vincent with a desperate last resort that becomes more curse than blessing because Vincent is now a _monster_, and it is _all her fault._ She watches Lucrecia fight for her son, watches her lose, watches her lose all of them to monsters and, finally, Lucrecia herself.

Shelke watches Lucrecia cry.

_I'm so sorry. _The words are an unbearable poison. _It's all my fault._

_This is not an experiment. It's not! It's…_

I'm so sorry.

Shelke doesn't cry. She doesn't feel. She simply sits and remembers the breaking of Vincent, of Sephiroth, of Lucrecia, of each Tsviet, of Nero, of herself.

She resolves never to love again.

* * *

_Bad or good, I don't know. They're a group of incomplete people who wish to be whole._

-Namine (KH2)

* * *

**a/n: **Torture, grave desecration, emotional manipulation, and murder, oh my.

Finally-finally! This is the first part of Bloom, a story I've been writing for what seems like forever.

Anyways, this is a NeroxShelke story, sort of. It's a bit difficult to see past all the horribleness, but it's there. I'll admit, I *loved* Nero and Shelke when I played Dirge of Cerberus, but I didn't really think of them as a pairing until the last few scenes in the game when they're finally shown interacting. And I'm convinced it's completely canon- Nero treats Shelke so differently, and- and- right, I'm just obsessed. ;_;

I suppose some sentiments are strongly stated (alliteration!) in here, but I really just can't stand Lucrecia. I think if there's any character in all of Final Fantasy I hate more than Hojo, it's her, because she's just ridiculously callous with other people. You could feasibly argue that nearly all the things in FF7 that go wrong are because of her: If she'd had a bit more of a spine, then she wouldn't have agreed to the experimentation, she'd have stayed away from Hojo, and never given her son up. And I don't really get Vincent much either- he himself acknowledges in-game that what Lucrecia did to him was beyond awful, but he seems only to be referring to the Chaos implant, not the deeply disturbing lack of morality on her part, and remains mostly obsessed with her sort-of-dead body for the rest of the game. So, conclusion is... they're both crazy. Vincent's still one of my favorites, though. Is it just me, or does Nero look and behave quite a bit like Vincent? They've both got red eyes, crazy black hair, penchant for dramatics, and general crazy awesomeness. And Vincent's definitely old enough, so... okay, maybe it's a bit farfetched to think that somehow Vincent could be Nero's biological father, but the thing I've learned with Final Fantasy is that there is no such thing as an unplanned detail. _It cannot be coincidence!_D:

As a related note, the bits of mental dialogue from Lucrecia's memories when Shelke first absorbs them are actually from the cutscenes in Dirge of Cerberus, though perhaps not in that context. I had a lot of trouble copying them down; incessant pausing, playing, replaying, fun stuff. ;_; Originally, they were Lucrecia's links to Vincent, but I figured it'd be cool for Shelke to experience them herself when she makes the dive. Also- also, I'll admit I had a lot of fun with that first scene after the dive. Poor Shelke, I embarrassed her so much. Her lines were Lucrecia's dialogue from Dirge of Cerberus, and I just couldn't resist. *brick'd*

Some knowledge of Dirge of Cerberus and the FF7-verse in general is recommended to read this. Not required, really, but some stuff probably won't make sense. You can read up on all of this in the delightful FF7 wiki, which I spend entirely too much time on in any case.

And the stuff with Argento... I'm sorry if I offend people, but it kind of had to be done. Shelke needs to grow up and detach herself from her dependence on Argento if she's going to go on and be the awesome badass she is in the rest of the story. That was inordinately creepy, though... I don't even know how I thought that up. ._.

Most of this is not canon, just stuff I made up, but the general order of major events is real. I think. All of the Deepground backstory I obtained from the Dirge of Cerberus PlayOnline sequence, which was only available in Japan for a limited time, to my utter despair... thank goodness for YouTube. I recommend watching the cutscenes, they provide quite an interesting corner to the FF7 picture.

What else to say? Hmm... There's a lot more coming up in the second part, I haven't even gotten to Shelke's meeting with Shalua. I am going to have such a blast finishing this thing up, because Dirge of Cerberus really took off around this part and Shelke's story just goes crazy. I mean legitimately crazy. O.O I never even planned for this story to be so long, just a small oneshot of Nero and Shelke when they were young, but it mutated horribly into a 30+ page monster. I assure you, this never happens to me.

I hope you enjoy! FF7, Dirge of Cerberus, etc is copyright to Squeenix, I do not own any of it and am not making money from it. If I did own it, I would never talk about anything else. Which... admittedly is not saying much, since it's pretty much all I talk about anyway.

**Please do not steal my writing. I have worked insanely hard on this for at least a year. Have mercy.**

I deeply appreciate anybody taking the time to read this, and will fall over in gratitude for any faves. Actual comments will probably make me cry.


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